


Tomorrow Never Tells

by Lt_Zoe_Jebkanto



Series: The Bonds Between Us [22]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Zoe_Jebkanto/pseuds/Lt_Zoe_Jebkanto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow never tells what it holds in store...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Owe Me One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A Delighted Guest](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=A+Delighted+Guest).



Tomorrow Never Tells

 

Chapter One

YOU OWE ME ONE

06 June, 2155  
1500 hours  
Enterprise NX01  
The Bridge

“You owe me one, Pinkskin.” 

The words came from behind him.

Jonathan Archer didn’t know whether to grin or groan.

“Shran!” he exclaimed, leaping from his chair. He spun to see the Andorian stepping from the lift, and realized there was nothing to decide. 

The grin was already spreading over his face as he took one, two, three steps across the bridge and saw his own pleasure reflected in his friend’s blue features as well as in the tilt of his antennae.

Still, there were those words. Those oh-so-familiar words going back and forth between the two of them, from the time when they’d first encountered each other at P’Jem in ‘51. 

While the idea of being in the other’s debt had never given him the sleepless nights Shran claimed to have endured, still a suggestion of uneasiness stirred in Jonathan’s gut. Even if there had been a hint of amusement lurking in the words, just how serious was this latest “owe me one” business going to prove, anyway? “What are you doing here?”

“When he transported over from the ore freighter, Captain,” Lieutenant Malcolm Reed cut in from his position half a step behind Shran. “He said he wanted to speak with you directly, without, as he explained it to me ‘half the galaxy tapping in on the transmission’. I’ve already checked. He’s unarmed.”

“Almost unarmed,” said Shran, one finger stroking a ceremonial scabbard at his waist. 

Jonathan stared at him. Shran, traveling by ore freighter? It wasn’t his new ship, was it? That would be quite a comedown for a commander in the Andorian Imperial Guard. Or was it simply the quickest, most convenient means he’d had at his disposal for a conversation he wanted kept private? “What is this about?” 

“Alone, Captain, if you will.”

“Follow me,” Jonathan gestured toward the door to his ready room. “Commander T’Pol, you have the bridge.”

As she rose from her position at Science and strode toward the center seat, she paused long enough to nod a brief and respectful acknowledgement to the Andorian. One that, Jonathan was gratified to note, Shran returned without hesitation.

So, here was another indication that the Coalition was working. Not so long ago, Vulcan and Andoria had been poised for war. 

Their exchange put a certain lightness in his step as he led his visitor into the small room off the bridge. As the door hissed shut behind them, they stood shoulder to shoulder for a silent moment, gazing at the strange and glorious star-field streaming past the window, before Jonathan stole a side-eyed glance at Shran. Was it a bittersweet sight for a captain who no longer had a ship to command? 

“Sit down,” Jonathan waved him toward a seat and opened a small, temperature controlled cabinet. Several squat, rounded glasses and a pyramid shaped bottle glistened inside. “I trust you’ll join me?”

Shran accepted the offered glass. He studied the shimmering pale blue liquid and the delicate tendrils of steam rising from it while he waited for Jonathan to fill his own. A suggestion of a smile touched his lips before he raised the drink and held it out in a brief salute. “To the Coalition of Planets.”

Though it was more a clunk then a chime, there was an understood ring of triumph in the meeting of glasses. “The Coalition,” Jonathan echoed, slipping into a seat across the table from Shran and taking a small, lip-tingling sip, followed by a deep breath. “Now, tell me. What, exactly do you want?”

“You wound me, Pinkskin. After all these years we’ve known each other…”

“Yes, exactly. After all these years we’ve known each other. Out with it, Shran. What’s on your mind?”

Sighing, Shran swirled the liquid in his glass until the rising steam flowed upward in slow spirals. Behind the veil of drifting vapor trails all trace of amusement faded from his features, leaving them strain-worn and weary. “I’ve come to ask you to accompany me to Andoria,” he said. “To bear witness at a hearing.”

Jonathan sipped, slow and careful as the Andorian brandy blazed a trail down his throat. Was Shran’s government bringing him before the Imperial Guard’s equivalent of a court-martial for loosing his ship in the Romulan attacks late last year? If so, they’d sure taken their time about it. Either politics on Andoria were shifting in a new direction or the justice system didn’t run any faster their than it did back on Earth. Of course, the Guard might be exploring the possibility of re-instating Shran to a position of command. Weighing his worthiness against an unknown number of others to captain a newly built ship. If this was going to be a request to act as witness on Shran’s behalf, there was a lot he could testify to about his honor and courage…

Before he could say anything, Shran continued.

“It concerns Jhamel.”

“Jhamel?” It had been several months since Jonathan had seen her, but he well remembered the small, slight Aenari girl. As clear as his memory was of her delicate, almost translucent porcelain skin and fall of shining silvery hair, it paled before his recollection of her determination and courage. She had been willing to risk her life in an attempt to end an escalating series of telepathy-enhanced acts of Romulan aggression. “Is she all right?”

“Physically, she’s well enough. She has been staying in our capital city, with Tallas’s family, actually, studying our culture and teaching us something of her own.” For a moment, Shran’s features softened, his manner became reflective, almost wistful. “Some of the old folktales that she’s written down which have been passed down to generation after generation of their children are filled with mystery and wonder. They are really… quite amazing.”

Unless he missed his guess, Jonathan decided, it was actually Jhamel herself that Shran found to be quite amazing. But… 

He frowned. Studied his friend’s face. “You said this is about a hearing. Is Jhamel in some kind of trouble?”

“Yes, dammit!” Shran’s empty glass clattered to the table as he surged to his feet. His fists clenched, his antennae stiffened. Carefully contained fury was written in every movement as he paced the room, in every word that he kept from rising to a shout. “She has been called back to the Northern Wastes to face a summary hearing of charges in the Aenari Hall of Discourse.”

“They’re doing this in secret?”

“No. The Aenar are making no attempt to keep the proceedings quiet. But the Andorian and Aenari governments have no diplomatic relations as yet, which is why I came…” Shran gestured toward the window, beyond which, presumably, the freighter waited. “…in a completely unofficial capacity. Since I am Andorian, the Aenar will neither recognize me nor any testimony I might wish to give. So, Captain, I’ve …”

“Come to collect on that one I owe you?” Jonathan topped off the two glasses, sending new wisps of steam rising between them. “Well, I have no problem with speaking on behalf of any actions Jhamel took while she was here on Enterprise. What, exactly, are the Aenari officials proposing?”

“Their Arbitters of Justice…” Shran almost spat the words. “Plan to pronounce on her a sentence of permanent banishment!” 

“What? Jhamel? Banished?” 

Jonathan knew he’d heard Shran’s words, but where was the sense in them? Banish that brave, gentle girl from her home? Isolate her from any of her people she might still have ties with? Especially when she’d lost her brother Gareb only months ago? 

Gone were the idealistic days when much could surprise him, but somehow, this was an almost unbelievable idea! That she should be subjected to such harsh treatment! Especially by a race that considered itself peace loving and enlightened! It was about the last thing Jonathan had expected to hear. “Why? What reason did they give?”

“They say,” Bitterness was apparent in Shran’s tone, but the small shake of his head announced that he found the story as bewildering as Jonathan did. “That she has banished herself by choosing to forsake the principles of her culture to willingly take part in an act of war.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

10 June, 2155  
Andoria, the Northern Wastes  
Aenari Hall of Discourse  
Fourteen hundred hours

The thing had to be broken! 

If not, Jonathan’s chronometer was having one hell of a strange reaction to the differing magnetic polarities here on Andoria. When he peered beneath the sleeve of his blue Starfleet formal dress uniform for a quick check of the time, the numbers said it was approximately an hour since the Arbiter and her associates had moved in procession from the tall, domed Hall of Discourse. 

Was the amount of time they had taken for deliberation a good thing? Did it mean the decision to exile Jhamel was not unanimous? Or were the three of them sitting there in the Chamber of Discussion reiterating their reasons to evoke a decree of banishment?

How much had the testimony Shran had come seeking actually done to help her? 

He had tried, more than once during questioning, to convey the knowing risks to her own life she had taken, using the telepresence device to contact her brother and disable the attacking Romulan drones. Still, it seemed they were more interested in learning from other Aenari about her determination to get past the mental shields disguising ice tunnels raised to keep her from leading him and Shran to the planet’s surface. 

God, if he was feeling the drag of waiting this much, how was it for Jhamel herself? She was the one whose future hung on the words being exchanged behind that tall, carved door. Or for Shran, whose sudden and passionate outburst in tribute to her courage had been summarily cut off, then dismissed as irrelevant to the issues at hand.

An hour. 

That hardly seemed possible, but everything in this room with its high, domed ceiling was so still, so quiet, it was difficult to tell whether time had dragged on much longer than that, or if any had passed at all. Maybe his confusion lay in the over and over replay of all those legal arguments going back and forth in his head, or the ominous sense that they had all counted for nothing, and that the inevitable was looming closer and closer with every heartbeat. 

Either way, his muscles chafed against the waiting. To sit this still when so much inside him wanted to pace out his frustration implied a patience, maybe even an acceptance he didn’t feel.

Not that his feelings had any place in this procedure, he reminded himself. How many times had he told members of his crew it wasn’t for them to interfere with internal affairs of other worlds? 

Muffling a sigh, he looked toward the Discussions Chamber door. There had been no sound of its opening, but it didn’t hurt to check. Nothing. There was only the court official standing by to summon all those present to full and respectful attention as soon as a decision was reached and the doors began to open. 

In the row ahead of him, Shran sat, taut and almost motionless, except for the occasional brushes of his arm against the sleeve of Jhamel’s traditional Aenari dress. They were no accident, Jonathan was sure. Jhamel’s gossamer veil rustled as she turned her head toward him and nodded in appreciative response. Though it was no more than a bare whisper of sound in the wide expanse of the chamber, the swish of material was almost loud against their ongoing silence. 

How many of his thoughts had Shran granted Jhamel access to? Or had those almost casual appearing touches expressed the degree of loyalty and support he wanted to show her? There was no doubt in Jonathan’s mind that Shran had developed feelings for the girl, but as to whether they went beyond admiration or fondness he could only speculate. 

Since he’d spent far less time with her than with his old friend, Jhamel’s emotions were harder to interpret. It was easy to tell that she held Shran in great respect and, despite these trying circumstances seemed comfortable in his company. But Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder how much more was being said to him in silence beneath those tiny movements of her head than anybody else would know?

Aware of how the smallest of sounds traveled through the quiet room and the sensitivity of dozens of expectant antennae all around him, with careful movements Jonathan shifted his position to glance at T’Pol, sitting on the long, narrow bench beside him in rose-colored, flowing Vulcan robes. 

How he’d hoped the presence of someone from a planet long regarded as a threat to Andoria might be an unspoken reminder that Jhamel’s actions brought about Romulan retreat while the alliance formed to engage them was still intact and willing to put aside old differences to see what could be accomplished together. How the cause of peace was being served since then by the formation of the Coalition.

Only time would tell.

Hands steepled in front of her chest, she sat in unsurprising Vulcan equanimity. Was she, perhaps taking the opportunity to meditate? 

It might be illuminating to ask her how much unconscious emotion could be conveyed through a telepathic link like the one he sensed was going on right now between Jhamel and Shran. Not that he ever would ask, especially not in this waiting, silent room. While T’Pol was aware that he knew about her bond with Trip, because of the complications it might create for their careers, for now references to it were being kept to a minimum. 

Besides, he could almost hear her reply: “That would vary considerably, depending on the depth of emotional connection between the people involved and their degree of telepathic receptivity.”

Anyway, if he really wanted to examine wordless communication, all he had to do was remember last year, when he’d gone mountain climbing with Erika Hernandez. How many times during those sweet, painful cathartic days after the Xindi mission, had she looked at him with those bright and knowing dark eyes of hers and spoken his innermost thoughts aloud? 

When he got back to Enterprise, he’d find a reason to contact her. Not necessarily in regard to these happenings here today, but just because… Well, because…

The sound of a door swinging open echoed around him. “Make ready to hear the will of the Arbitry Council of the Aenari!” rang out the door-minder’s voice. He held it for them as the Arbiter, with her two associates following three of four deferential steps behind her, emerged from the Chamber of Discussion. Jonathan studied their serene, unreadable faces as, moving with tranquil formality they seated themselves and the door closed behind them with an imposing thud. 

Just in front of him, Shran’s antennae went rigid.

In tones that gave no clue as to what the pronouncement would be, but nonetheless rang with authority, the Arbiter called out. “Jhamel, you will come forward.”

She rose, with Shran coming to his feet beside her, his strong hand circling her upper arm for a moment before, with deliberate and lingering slowness he released it and stood watching her make her way, head high, up the aisle.

Jonathan could see his own apprehension written in his friend’s every muscle ten times over. And something else as well. Something stronger.

More than admiration, more than simple fondness! Shran’s fierce guardsman’s heart was going with Jhamel each step of her way, pouring out his pride, strength and courage. He would probably bleed for her if he could! 

A brief and rueful smile tugged at one corner of Jonathan’s mouth as he watched Shran’s gaze following Jhamel’s progress. He was a lucky man to experience loving someone so deeply, but a tormented one as well, to have to watch her mounting the steps to take her place on the platform alone. 

For several moments there was silence.

“Jhamel, if you would turn and face the body of the Aenar. Both they and the Arbiters of this Court have heard, from your lips and from those who spent time in your company during the period in question, what actions you took as well as the thoughts and feelings that prompted them. It is our understanding that as a result of those actions, a potential war was averted between Andoria, her allies and the Romulan Star Empire. For this, you have the profound appreciation of the Aenar…”

There was a pause.

Appreciation! Profound appreciation! 

Jonathan held his breath, held his hope, waited. Saw how Shran’s antennae twitched. Saw how his fingers curled, straightened, curled again. They mirrored the movements of Jhamel’s hands as she gripped the rail at the front of the platform.

The Arbiter continued.

“However, the results of your actions have no bearing on the motivations that prompted them. For the sake of rendering an uncertain degree of assistance to a single individual, you abandoned a lifetime’s beliefs and principles. You refused to honor our tradition of complete pacifism. You chose to board a vessel bound for an engagement in battle, exposing yourself to the taint of violence. By these actions and by the spirit in which you took them, it is the determination of this council that you have removed yourself from our teachings, our way of life and from the solidarity of our community. It is with deep regret that, for the sake of the continued well-being of that community as a whole, it has been decided that they shall bear witness as you leave it to make your way with those whose views you find more in keeping with your own.”

The Arbiter rose. Without another word she walked to where Jhamel stood. In one swift motion, she lifted her hands and pulled the fragile, shimmering veil from Jhamel’s long, silvery hair. “Under the decree of banishment, you will go now from this place and no longer member yourself among the Aenar.” 

As the airy veil drifted downward, to pile in gentle folds on the floor, the Arbiter strode, with the swishing of robes, back to her seat. 

For a moment, Jhamel’s antennae drooped. Her eyes closed. Her pale, delicate fingers gripped the rail at the front of the platform. 

“The sentence has been passed,” said the Arbiter after several silent seconds. “You are now free to leave the chamber.”

Jhamel did not move. Only the slightest quiver of antennae gave proof that she was not a statue or holo-image.

The scuffle of impatient shoes, the rustle of Aenari robes and the murmurings of court note-taking equipment reverberated against the walls and domed ceiling in the wordless room. Two, three, four seconds. The silence grew as the observers waited for Jhamel to step around the railing, make her way down the steps of the platform and then between them all, out along the center aisle.

Ten seconds.

How many here were just about itching to violate tradition right now and peer into the mind beneath those faintly shivering antennae? Making as little sound as possible, Jonathan shifted in his seat to gaze from one group of quiet, expectant faces to another. He saw no hint of outrage at the sentence, no pleasure of victory, no sadness of defeat. Not even curiosity. When it came to unreadable expressions, it seemed the Aenari could give the Vulcans a run for their money.

He looked over at T’Pol seated next to him and was gratified that, as she met his glance, she lifted one speculative eyebrow before returning her attention to the figure on the platform. 

With deliberate slowness, Jhamel’s head lifted. Her voice was not loud, but her tone was decisive. There was no hint of surprise in her tone at the pronouncement of sentence, only a formality that implied she had given much beforehand thought to her words. They rose, clear and strong, to ring bell-like through the stillness. 

“I’ve heard, and accept, the sentence passed on me here today. Those of you who knew me and shared my thoughts all through the years when I was growing up will understand how sad I will be to leave all of you. I’m going to miss you and my home here. And you also know that I never was, and I am not now somebody who believes in violence. But when the principles of pacifism become more important than the lives of the individuals it is supposed to protect, then it’s stopped being a principle. It’s become only an unquestioning, rigid code of conduct. That’s something I can’t, I don’t want to, live with anymore.”

She stood surrounded by silence for another handful of seconds before she turned and made her way along the edge of the platform. Her head was still high, her face as calm as any of the others, but her hand shook slightly as it gripped the wooden rail.

Rising, Shran stepped out from where he sat in the second bench at the left of the aisle. He moved with grave and purposeful strides to meet Jhamel as she reached the foot of the stairs. Taking her hand, he tucked it into his elbow and with an almost regal dignity, escorted her past the quiet crowd, the perked and attentive antennae, down the center aisle and out the chamber’s tall double doors.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 

10 June, 2155  
Enterprise NX01  
Twenty one hundred hours  
The Captain’s Mess

“I think- ” Jonathan set his empty glass of Andorian brandy on the table beside him, then, rising, strode toward the door of the Captain’s Mess. “I’m going to call this a night. Give you two a little privacy to talk.”

“Nonsense, Pinkskin,” Shran brushed the suggestion aside as the door slid shut behind Commanders Tucker and T’Pol. He gestured Jonathan back toward the table with its scattering of empty dishes, cups and glasses. “There is nothing secret in what I wish to discuss with Jhamel.”

Was that a trace of nervousness in his friend’s tone?

Jonathan glanced from Shran, still standing by the door where, moments ago, he and Jhamel had also said their goodnights to Ensign Sato and Doctor Phlox.

“It is all right, Captain,” Jhamel’s words seemed loud in a room now silent except for the steady soft thrum of the ship’s engines.

The dinner that had awaited them on their arrival from Andoria had been a small, quiet affair, arranged by Hoshi and Phlox. 

“Jhamel will need to feel welcomed… wanted…” Phlox, who had worked with her more extensively than anybody else aboard Enterprise, had told the captain while Hoshi and Trip escorted Jhamel and the few belongings the Aenar had gathered for her, to guest quarters adjoining Shran’s on D-deck. “I can only imagine how lost and alone she must be feeling, with her brother dead and now being cut off from all she has known up until only a few months ago.”

Jonathan’s nod had been reflective. “I think though, that Shran’s been doing a good job helping out on both counts up til now. But you’re right. She’s got a lot of large decisions to make in the next few days and, after all she’s done for the Coalition, she deserves every bit of support we can show her.”

Now sinking back into his chair, Jonathan divided a look between the two of them. Judging by the tension written in every line of Shran’s stance, he might be the one really in most need of support. 

“Jhamel, come join us. We need to discuss your future.” Shran invited. Moving to the table, he poured himself another glass of brandy… a very large glass of brandy. The brusqueness in his tone only reinforced Jonathan’s suspicions. Brave, decisive Shran was nervous! There was the slightest of tics in the left corner of his mouth, and his antennae were standing so rigidly upright that the matching twitch on the same side was almost, but not quite, invisible. 

All at once, Shran wasn’t the only one who was nervous. If he had sounded either businesslike, or genuinely matter of fact, Jonathan would be finding his chair a lot more comfortable. But the Andorian sounded like he was almost strangling on his attempt to seem casual. And with each passing instant, Jonathan found he was envisioning himself more and more clearly as a modern version of a Spanish duenna, a Victorian chaperone and a… a… Well, a damned fifth wheel!

Too bad he hadn’t managed a hasty retreat when Trip and T’Pol made their departure!

Was the pulse, pulse, pulsing of the engines somehow getting… louder?

Shran drained his brandy in three deep swallows and clunked the glass down on the tabletop. Silence wove itself between the throb, throb, throb of the engines. 

Jonathan waited. Was he supposed to say something? Obviously, his old comrade wanted him here as the scene between him and Jhamel played itself out. God! Meeting the demands of friendship could be a damned awkward proposition sometimes! If he had antennae of his own right now, they’d be twitching even harder than Shran’s. 

Probably he was meant to act as some kind of witness to what was about to happen. Though he was honored that Shran trusted him enough to have him act in that capacity, that didn’t make it comfortable. Jhamel’s own antennae were also perked, straight and stiff, either with anticipation or apprehension. She stopped, then stood waiting, resting one small, delicate hand on the back of her chair. 

“Jhamel,” Shran’s fingers tightened on his empty glass. “When we leave Enterprise, you are welcome to stay with me.”

Jhamel gave him the slightest suggestion of a smile. “You are under no obligation to make such an offer.” 

“Obligation?” Still clutching the glass, Shran took a step back. “If for one moment you think I’d make this suggestion from any sense of obligation…!”

“You are honorable, Shran,” Jhamel interrupted, undeterred by his indignation. Stepping toward him, she laid a restraining hand on his sleeve and continued in a quiet, resolute voice. “And, you are used to bearing the responsibility of command. You were among those who came requesting an Aenar use telepathy to assist in stopping the Romulan drone. I was the one who decided to accompany you, which brought about my banishment. Though it was my choice, you see it as falling within that command, as much as if I were part of your crew. But I was not. Therefore I cannot…”

“Jhamel,” Shran interrupted. Though his stance remained rigid, a note of amused exasperation crept into his tone. “If that is what you think, then you had better take my thoughts. You’re right, I would feel some responsibility to see that you were settled because you had lost your home due to actions I was a part of. But…” He paused, waged an unsuccessful fight with the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I wouldn’t necessarily ask you to stay… With me.”

Jonathan realized he was holding his breath. 

Shran, undaunted in battle, was fighting an unfamiliar and possibly far more difficult war with the right words. He cleared his throat, buying himself a few more unhelpful seconds. “What I say to you now comes out of respect, even from admiration for your courage and determination. But also out of what… I think… might be the beginning of something more.”

Gently he disengaged her hand from his sleeve, then circled it with both his own. “Jhamel… It may be too soon for me to suggest it, or for you to consider it. We have only known each other over the span of several months. I am still a captain with no command. The Imperial Guard doesn’t look favorably on those of us in my position. There is always an assumption that we could have done something to hold onto the ship. My future is uncertain. I have little to offer. But I would be honored if you’d consider…” His antenna twitched harder. “Staying with me as… my wife.”

Jhamel drew a slow, deliberating breath. “Would having an Aenari wife complicate your prospects for regaining a command?”

Shran’s eyes widened. 

It was plain to Jonathan that he’d expected an answer. A yes, even possibly a no, any kind of answer, far more than he’d anticipated a question. But Shran himself would not have given one, without first making at least a basic assessment of how his response would impact the situation and those involved in it. His look of surprise faded as her considered response turned it to one of deepening respect for the clarity of her thinking. 

Especially since she hadn’t given him an outright “no”.

Frowning, he did some deliberating of his own.   
“Those of us from my part of Andoria have many proud traditions… which the captain here can well attest to.” Shran shot a rueful glance in Jonathan’s direction, and brushed a remembering hand over his left antenna, though its length was now almost indistinguishable from the one on the right. 

“I’d say that’s a fair statement,” Smiling a little, Jonathan nodded his agreement.

Returning the nod, Shran continued. “We can be impulsive in our actions and quick in our judgments, especially when our honor or that of our households is brought into dispute. But, your origins would not jeopardize my future chances of captaining another ship. Especially since you have displayed both honor and courage in your efforts toward resolving the Romulan conflict.”

Jhamel slipped her hand from Shran’s, turned and walked, not as he might have done, to the window with its shining starfield beyond, but to the wall leading to the corridor. Lifting her hand, she stroked the door-frame with her sensitive fingers.

“This ship is almost alive, isn’t it?” she asked.

Shran nodded. “Yes.” He said, realizing she was connecting with the pulse, pulse, pulse of the engines, the shiver of power coursing through every surface. 

“As was your ship.”

A painful grimace tightened Shran’s features. 

Jonathan understood that look. If Enterprise were destroyed, the loss of her would be an ache that throbbed as deep and impotent as it might for a missing limb. He found himself both amazed and completely unsurprised that Jhamel understood how that ship had been alive to Shran in a way quite separate from the way the crew was alive. 

“It is too soon for you to make such an offer,” said Jhamel. “You are in grief. For your ship. And for Tallas.”

Shran’s mouth opened. Jonathan could almost hear his protest. His first reaction would be to deny it, largely because he really hated to be contradicted. But, after a sharply indrawn breath, from which he’d been quite prepared to launch a few argumentative words, he sighed and nodded reluctant agreement.

Jhamel turned, walked toward him and the beginnings of a smile touched her lips. She brushed his arm. “I don’t care whether you have a command, or a certainty as to what your future holds. But I do care that you have a heart that is whole.”

“Perhaps you are right.” There was great sadness in Shran’s voice as he studied her face, though, after a moment, a returning smile touched his lips. “That we both must allow ourselves time for healing. Time to rediscover where we stand in the midst of grievous losses. But for now, I offer what protection my household may provide… With no commitment or expectation… beyond those of our continued friendship.”

Her smile broadened until it lit her entire face. “I will accept your terms, however only on one condition.” 

“You presume to bargain with me?” Shran’s head reared back, but any conviction in his affronted tone was offset by the laughter fighting its way up his throat. He glanced at Jonathan. “You see what courage she has? Go ahead then and name your terms before this witness.”

Jonathan chuckled, remembering the note of mischief in Jhamel’s voice.

“My condition…” Stepping even closer to him, Jhamel lifted her face so that her antennae almost touched Shran’s. “Is that, when the time seems right… you consider asking me again later.”

“Your condition,” Shran made no attempt to conceal the chuckle warming his words, though beneath them, his tone held more than a hint of seriousness. “Has been duly considered and will be agreed to.”

Jonathan took a deep breath, prepared to offer pleased congratulations to both of them on their successful negotiations, but then…

Shran’s free arm lifted to circle Jhamel’s waist. His gaze was full of naked tenderness as he gazed down into her upturned face and drew her close. Closer.

Maybe, Jonathan debated, he should clear his throat along about now. Just as a quiet little reminder to let his suddenly very preoccupied friend know he was still there. Still watching, still witnessing something more than what had… probably… been intended.

Jhamel’s hand moved from Shran’s arm to his shoulder.

Maybe he should slip out of his chair and exit the room. But he’d have to maneuver past the two people directly in his path. It would be difficult doing that without watching the two of them as their faces moved nearer, nearer, nearer to each other’s.

God, these were his friends! He didn’t exactly want to think of them in such a… a clinical… analytical way, but… He couldn’t help but wonder… 

Did people from Andoria kiss?

He was way past envisioning himself as Jhamel’s twenty-second century Spanish duenna or Shran’s Victorian chaperone by now… But the idea that he was a fifth wheel was intensifying with each throb of the engine.

Maybe they… entwined their antennae?

The idea of clearing his throat recurred, but… Maybe it would be better… more considerate if he could slip out of this chair, straighten up, one quiet muscle group at a time without disturbing their rapt attention to each other…

It was with more than a touch of relief that he heard the sound of the comm breaking into the mounting intensity of the moment. “Captain Archer to the Bridge.”

At least, until he heard the note of urgency in Hoshi’s voice.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

10 June 2155  
Enterprise NX01  
The Bridge  
Twenty one hundred hours, thirty minutes

 

The apprehension that had lain, half-dozing somewhere beneath Jonathan’s breastbone for months, came awake in an instant. It gave speed to his steps as he hurried from the Captain’s Mess, down the corridor and into the lift, with Shran and Jhamel following, almost unnoticed, only a few steps behind.  
He’d known this would come, as had Enterprise’s crew and, for that matter, the entire Coalition of Planets. Only one step onto the bridge, one sweeping glance at the sensor displays lighting up like the Las Vegas Strip in some of Trip’s old Tuesday night movies, and his intuition was confirmed.   
“Report!” he ordered, sinking into the command chair.  
Hoshi spoke over her shoulder. “Ensign Courmier contacted me for a consult on an anomalous signal on long range sensors right after Lieutenant Reed and I left the Mess. I’ve ruled out any natural occurrence. Sir, it’s gives every indication of a coded transmission being sent over an unusual frequency.”  
Malcolm glanced up from Tactical. “Unusual, but not unrecognized. We encountered something very similar, along with the same type of warp signature several months ago during our previous encounter with-”  
Jonathan was already nodding. He knew Reed’s next words before he spoke them.  
“-the Romulans.”  
He need hardly have made the announcement. An object hurtled through the star-field on the forward view-screen. For one, two, three seconds it remained formless, only a larger, brighter light among countless others. Then it began to define itself, first as a vague letter “V”, then clarifying as a Bird of Prey as it reached visual range.   
Malcolm divided a quick glance between his monitor and his captain. “Its trajectory sends it straight into Andorian space.”  
“Hail them!”  
“No response, Sir.” Hoshi shook her head.  
“Time to the border?” Shran’s instinctive voice of authority rang close beside Jonathan’s ear.  
Jonathan caught Travis Mayweather’s sidelong glance and surprised lifting of his brows at the Andorian’s sudden commanding tone. “Go ahead, Ensign,” he said.  
“Its current course and speed has it on an intercept course with our own in approximately-” began Travis. “-hang on! It’s velocity has dropped. Adjusting for the decrease in speed, I should have a projection for you in another-”  
“Its speed is continuing to drop at a non-incremental rate,” said T’Pol, glancing over her shoulder from her position at the Science Station. She must, Jonathan realized, have received the same notification he had after leaving the mess with Trip, and reached the bridge shortly before he had himself. “Captain, when we traced the originating point of the signal, its trajectory indicated a travel rate of warp four. Thirty seconds ago it dropped to warp three and now is traveling at two point seven… Decreasing to two point five… two point two… point one…”  
“Sir,” interrupted Malcolm. “According to sensor scans, there is no sign of internal damage to account for the decrease of speed or lack of response to our hails.”  
And that, Jonathan realized, wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t been accounted for. He frowned. “Hoshi, are you picking up any other communications from them or-” He held up a silencing hand before Shran could speak. “-from the Andorians?”  
The stillness between the murmurings of bridge equipment was loud with expectancy. Jonathan could see, even from behind her, how Hoshi’s head turned back and forth, back and forth as she scanned her console, how her hands flew over its surface as they made inquiry after inquiry. “Nothing from the Romulans in several minutes,” she said. “But I’m getting transmission from four separate Imperial Guard vessels in what seems to be a series of codes. I can’t be sure yet, but they appear to be co-ordinates for massing a defensive force, near our position on the border.”   
“As they should be!” exclaimed Shran. “Captain Archer! Let me speak with them! It is imperative we prevent the Romulans from crossing into our territory-”  
“Shran!” Jonathan gestured him to silence as he stared at the vessel hanging in the center of the star-field. “We don’t know what the Romulans’ purpose for being here is!”  
“What other purpose would they possibly have? They plan to attack us!”   
Leaning forward in his chair, Jonathan stared at the vessel as if the intensity of his gaze could force information from it. Shran spun away from Jonathan’s side. He took two, three, four angry steps toward the view-screen, then paused, every line of his body taut as he, too studied the Romulan ship.   
Jonathan recognized the rush of rage and grief that had surged through the Andorian’s every movement. He knew some of the same fury and adrenaline were flooding his own veins as he remembered the series of Romulan attacks that had blasted Tellarite, Vulcan and Earth vessels into clouds of interstellar debris only months ago. But unlike Shran, he had not had to give the order to abandon a beloved ship that was both home and friend to him. He hadn’t spent hour after hour in an escape pod with a handful of crewmates, wondering how many of their comrades, scattered across the stars in other pods, might have survived. And which of them had not.   
His hands tightened on the arms of his chair as the Bird of Prey came on, growing larger, until it dominated the screen. He could hear Hoshi continuing to send out hail after hail. There was no answer from the Romulans, not even the crackle of interference..   
Jonathan kept his gaze on the view-screen. “Armament strength, Mister Reed?”   
“Somewhat superior to our own, Sir, but no match for a united action between us and the Andorian fleet.”  
“Archer!” Shran exclaimed. “If we-”   
“Captain,” T’Pol’s quick, sharp words cut across the Andorian’s. “The Romulan vessel’s velocity continues to decrease. It is currently at warp one point eight, point four, point two. It has dropped out of warp and seems to be holding at station-keeping beyond the outer edge of Andorian territory.”  
Hoshi’s voice sounded only a moment later. “I have incoming transmissions from the nearest Andorian vessel.”  
“Put it on audio, Ensign,” said Jonathan.  
“Enterprise, as a fellow member of the Coalition, how do you plan to assist in deterring the Romulan invaders from entering our space?”  
“I can,” said Shran, his eyes lighting with satisfaction, as he resumed his place beside the Captain’s chair. “Supply you with our most recent codes for maneuvering this vessel in coordination with the movements of our fleet. That would prevent their being picked up by the Romulans as part of any transmission.”  
Jonathan nodded. “Give them to Lieutenant Reed. He can integrate them into our own defensive systems.” He turned to Hoshi. “On scramble, Ensign.”  
He cleared his throat. “Andorian vessel, this is Enterprise. That determination is being made as we speak. Stand by.”  
T’Pol sent a quick glance over her shoulder. “No engine output of any kind from the Romulans,” she reported. “Neither from their warp nor sub-light systems.”  
Was that a note of perplexity in her voice?   
“Stealthy,” murmured Shran in what sounded like a mingling of contempt, irritation and a certain sneaking respect. “Positioning their vessel, but not the range of their weapons, beyond the legal limits of our territory.”   
“Very stealthy,” Jonathan nodded, considering. “Very… pragmatic.”  
There was something about that maneuver he didn’t like. Something in the pieces of the Romulan actions that didn’t seem to… quite… add up in a recognizable way compared to his previous experiences with them, but only tugged at that apprehension beneath his breastbone. And yet… wasn’t there a pattern? “T’Pol, can you give us a visual on the placement of the vessel relative to the Andorian fleet and to the border?”  
“Adjusting sensors,” said T’Pol.   
An image appeared on the forward view-screen. The star-field was superimposed by a grid-work with designated co-ordinates. A stylized V-shaped recreation of the Bird of Prey appeared to be hovering, centered within a square two removed from one bisected by a glowing red line, labeled, rather superfluously “Andorian Border”.  
Or almost centered.  
“T’Pol…?” He asked, hearing her perplexity echoed in his own voice.  
“Yes, Captain, I see it,” T’Pol confirmed, their long years of service together had her answering his question before he’d had time to complete it. “That craft is drifting toward Andorian space. It appears to have positioned itself within an energy stream which is carrying it in this direction with no utilization of its own power sources.”  
“Time to border?” demanded Jonathan.  
“At current rate of drift, approximately four and one half minutes,” replied T’Pol.  
He resisted the urge to rise, to prowl the bridge as Shran had done.   
“The codes are uploaded, Sir.” reported Malcolm.   
“Four minutes to the border,” said T’Pol. “Three minutes fifty five seconds…”  
“Sir,” said Malcolm. “The Andorian vessels have converged.”  
“Captain,” said Hoshi. “They want to know-”  
“I know what they want!” snapped Jonathan. “But we still have about three minutes to finalize this decision.”  
“Then we decide,” said Shran. Pain and fury rang beneath the note of sarcasm. “To blast them back to where they came from.”  
Jonathan watched the changing diagram on the view-screen, then turned to Shran, speaking his thoughts as he searched for the missing pieces. “Three minutes, Shran. We have three minutes and we still don’t know what the Romulans want to do. What they want us to do. Do they intend to launch an unprovoked attack on your territory, or do they have something completely different in mind?”  
Shran shifted restlessly, but both his gaze and his antennae remained fixed in Jonathan’s direction.  
On the screen, one upper edge of the Bird of Prey’s “V” moved within a hair’s breath of the edge of its square. “Think about it,” Jonathan said as the pattern began to come clear. “The familiar transmitting frequency coming closer and closer? That vessel’s sudden slowing right outside your border, allowing a chance for our suspicions to build? Providing enough time for us to amass a defensive force?”  
Shran’s jaw tightened. One antenna twitched. “It’s all a set up! They want us to attack them!” His tone was full of furious incredulity. “So all the ships’ logs, Earth, Andorian and Romulan alike, will register that we, not the Romulans, are the ones who fired first! Then they can claim we launched an unprovoked strike on their vessel in unclaimed space!”  
“Yes,” Jonathan was nodding, feeling all the pieces at last fit into place. “They’re using our own past as their greatest weapon, like they tried to use the only mistrust between Vulcan, Andoria and Tellar to destabilize this region of space. Now they want to use the pain, and anger over those attacks, and the instinctive impulse to lash out in retaliation by making an act of vengeance almost too hard to resist, and set in motion the war we avoided back then, and we’ve all been attempting to prevent ever since!”  
“It should have been obvious,” Shran nodded to himself. For several seconds, he gazed at the screen. When he turned to Jonathan, there was the suggestion of a smile touching his lips and a grim amusement lighting his eyes. “When I stop to consider their maneuvers, they are all far too blatant for a species whom we already know possesses a cloaking technology that could easily have had them inside our space and launching an attack before anybody recognized their presence here.”  
“The cloaking technology!” The final unaccounted for piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Shran was right, it should have been obvious. Jonathan turned toward the Science station. “T’Pol, check our long-range sensors. I suspect we’ll find some spatial anomalies out there to suggest an entire flock of Birds of Prey is just waiting for their opportunity to swoop in.”  
“And when you do,” said an unexpected voice from behind Jonathan’s chair. “Then let them wait!”   
“Jhamel!” exclaimed Shran as both he and Jonathan turned to look at her.  
The serenity in her expression was a surprise after the crisp authority in her tone.  
“Anomaly sighted,” Said T’Pol. “Understandably, I can’t get a fix on its exact position or distance from the border, but the readings in the direction from which the Romulan vessel has come appear to be significantly skewed.”  
“What?” Shran continued to stare at Jhamel. “Do you believe we’ll gain by waiting?”   
There was, Jonathan realized, a note of challenge in the Andorian’s tone, but not one of impatience, irritation or dismissiveness. It was recognition that while her insights and reactions to the situation were very different than his, they were as bravely met and quite possibly more fully reasoned out than his own.  
It was that tone, even more than the tender words he had heard back in the Mess, that announced to Jonathan how much Shran had come to love and to respect the Aneari girl.   
“Well,” the humor in her voice did nothing to diminished the seriousness underlying it. “Aside from refusing to give them what they want, I believe that in approximately three minutes, we’ll get to learn how the Romulans intend escaping that energy current to keep themselves from trespassing into Andorian space.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

10 June, 2155  
Enterprise NX-01, The Bridge  
Twenty two hundred hours

“Time, Commander?” Jonathan didn’t turn from the view-screen.

“Fifty five seconds,” T’Pol’s gaze stayed on her monitor.

“Captain?” Sighing, Hoshi shot a brief look over her shoulder. “The Andorian commander is asking-”

“Let me talk to him, Pinkskin!” Shran glanced from the screen to Hoshi, then spun to face him.

Jonathan continued to study the movement of the Bird of Prey. Its yellow “v” was now entirely within the grid-work square adjoining the red borderline and inching closer, closer as a series of numbers at the bottom of the screen counted down the number of kilometers it still needed to travel to cross it. 

“Fifty seconds,” said T’Pol.

“Go ahead,” Jonathan nodded toward Hoshi, then raised and spread two palms in her direction. He crossed, then uncrossed them. “Put him on. Audio only, Ensign.”

“Yes, Sir,” Hoshi returned the rapid gesture, then the nod.

“Captain Archer!” A moment later a disembodied voice, edged with the faint hiss of interference, filled the bridge. “We have followed your instructions. We have waited to hear your plan. If that’s what you call all this inertia, we intend to separate ourselves from your command and take actions of our own.”

“Sir, there’s a shift in the energy signature from the Andorian lead vessel,” announced Malcolm. “They’re activating their forward shields.”

“Captain-” Jonathan began. 

“Cor’thow, is that you?” Shran’s words rose, quick and demanding before Jonathan could continue.

“Who’s asking?” The voice over the com link rang with suspicion.

“This is Shran. Drop your shields at once!”

 

“On whose authority?” came the challenging tone.

“Mine!” Shran barked. Before Captain Cor’thow could protest that Shran had no ship and without one, had no true authority to command, he continued. “And that of the United Coalition of Planets! Listen, Cor’thow, Captain Archer here and I are in complete agreement, do you understand me? Complete agreement. We will give the Romulans no provocation for assuming we plan to launch an attack. Not unless and until the first centimeter of that ship of theirs sticks its nose into our space!”

A sudden grin lit his features as he looked at the Enterprise captain.

Jonathan found himself returning the smile before he added his words to Shran’s. “Based on our past encounters with the Romulans, we have every reason to believe the odds against that crossing will ever happen. They’re far too fond of maneuvering others into doing their dirty work for them. But, for the sake of argument, let’s just say they try to buck those odds and either enter or fire into Andorian territory, all bets about our restraint are off.” 

“Understood. All right, Archer, Shran, I’ll inform the rest of our fleet to remain at standby as long as necessary. But, as agreed, only one centimeter. Cor’thow out.” 

There was the slightest note of humor in his gruff-edged tone. There the continued soft crackle of static and background noises of the other ship’s standard operations. Cor’thow’s voice was an indistinct murmur, with only an occasional phrase rising to clarity. “First centimeter,” he said on an eager note of satisfaction, and “Sequenced weapons fire”, followed, from what sounded like a greater distance, “keep monitoring their position.” 

Jonathan could imagine as clearly as though he could see it, the other captain turning to speak with the personnel on his own bridge. He kept his gaze on Shran, standing, taut-muscled and expectant beside him as they listened to the transmission. 

For him, Cor’thow was an unpredictable entity. But Shran nodded his reassurance, the smile still touching one corner of his mouth, and his eyes shining bright with- 

Even in this situation, Jonathan could have sworn it was-

-something almost akin to mischief.

The static on the com-link wavered. A moment later Cor’thow’s voice rose in irritation. “Damn it, Gattin, I ordered you to cut that transmission after we…” In mid-sentence the link went silent.

Shran’s smile widened. 

 

Jonathan turned to Hoshi, making a slashing gesture in the air. “May I assume,   
Ensign, that none of Shran’s or my words were on scramble?”

“No Sir,” said Hoshi. “They weren’t. Neither were Captain Cor’thow’s.”

Jonathan nodded his thanks. “Good to know we all recognize exactly where we stand. T’Pol, have you found a way to get us a visual on that energy stream?”

“Working on it, Captain. I should have something momentarily.” 

“Obviously,” Jonathan raised a curious brow toward the grinning Shran. “Somehow you knew that Captain Cor’thow would arrange to accidentally descramble his own communications channel for the benefit of our Romulan companions…” 

He let the unstated question dangle between them.

“I imagine his name wasn’t really Cor’thow?” Jhamel’s face lit with amusement and a hint of mischief that mirrored Shran’s.

“That’s Captain Than’el Pree,” said the Andorian. “One of the finest commanders in the Imperial Guard.”

“I didn’t realize before now the story was shared by the Aenar and the Andorians,” Jhamel told Shran, her voice still filled with delight as she explained to Jonathan. “Cor’thow was… not exactly the hero… but he was the main character in several ancient children’s tales. He was known for accidentally letting secrets slip at the most crucial moments.”

“I’m coming to realize,” said Shran. “How much more our peoples have in common than any of us knew.” 

“I have the visual,” said T’Pol as a shimmering pink and purple line surrounded the Bird of Prey, snaking a diagonal path across the screen, the grid-work and the border. “Twenty seconds to Andorian territory, fifteen… ten…”

“Captain,” exclaimed Malcolm. “Reverse thrusters on the Romulan vessel have been engaged at minimal power.”

On the forward viewer, the “v”, its edges now surrounded by a faint glow of white, was edging from the stream and back toward the square two rows out from the border.

“I don’t believe,” said Malcolm looking up from his tactical display. “The Romulans expected us to call their bluff. Probably not a poker player among them over there.” 

 

“Or a chess master,” agreed Jonathan. Beside him, Shran raised curious brows. “An ancient strategy, patience and planning game,” Jonathan explained. “Goes back thousands of years on Earth. I’ll have to teach you sometime. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“You might be right,” Shran nodded as the last of his smile faded on a sigh of chagrin. “It sounds like a worthwhile pastime for a commander. I may need to practice the patience aspect of it, control my impulses. I was ready to rush in, commit us all to battle, open fire and give the Romulans exactly what they wanted.”

Jhamel touched his forearm. “You wanted to. But I believe you are a better commander than that. You made yourself pause to take counsel with someone you trust.”

“I’m glad you’ve got such faith in me,” Shran shook his head as if to shake the note of cynicism from his tone. He turned to Jonathan. The anger and grief for his old ship, its crew and his command shone naked in his eyes for a moment, only to be replaced by a certain weary resolve. “So, now, again, we wait.”

The Bird of Prey was now resettled in the middle of its grid-space, the faint glow of its power emissions fading as it hung before them all, motionless.

“Chess rather than poker, Sir?” asked Malcolm. 

“It would be my guess.” Jonathan settled back in his chair with a sigh nearly as heavy as Shran’s. He turned to the Andorian. “Poker employs a lot of bluffing, but the action moves quickly from player to player, while chess… chess can be a waiting game. So, now we wait. But not here.” 

His smile too had gone. Now that the immediate threat had eased somewhat, his muscles reminded him it was reaching the late part of what had already been a long, long day with no end of it yet in sight. 

Had it really been only today they’d sat waiting in the Aenari Hall of Justice to hear the Arbiters’ decision on Jhamel’s banishment? 

He turned to Travis. “Move us in slowly to a mirroring position on this side of the border, facing that ship directly, with five thousand kilometers of separation between us.” 

“Yes, Sir.”

The viewing angle changed, but Enterprise’s altered position brought no responding movement from the Romulan vessel. There it remained, neither advancing nor retreating.

Enterprise waited, the warp engines still as they held at station-keeping, the sub-light drive a bare background whisper as the ship hung motionless and watchful, with the Andorian Imperial fleet fanned out and holding in a steady formation behind it.

An hour passed.

The time registered at twenty three hundred.

Nobody spoke much. Places were found for Shran and Jhamel to sit as the digital numbers on the main chronometer continued to change, one after another. Eleven hundred ten. Eleven twenty, thirty, forty, fifty… 

Jonathan rose, stretched some of the gathering fatigue out of his muscles as he circled to one station after another for a quiet word before resuming his seat. 

Zero hundred hours.

He logged the change of date to the eleventh of June, twenty one fifty five.

The numbers began another cycle. Zero ten, fifteen, twenty…

A steward brought bottles of hot beverages up from the Mess and distributed them amid soft murmurs of appreciation. 

Jonathan released the cover on a silver cylinder of black coffee. It was amazing what the rich, dark aroma and then the bitter-edged taste of the hot liquid could do to sharpen drifting focus. He studied the view-screen. The Romulan vessel remained precisely where it had been for more  
than two and a half hours. Two and three quarters. Almost three.

No change or build up of weaponry signatures had been detected, announced Malcolm from tactical. No power build-up from its engines and no drift anywhere near the energy stream, T’Pol informed them from Science. No change at all in their position, agreed Travis at the helm. And, Hoshi stated, glancing up from her communications console, there had been no attempted transmissions between the Bird of Prey and the cloaked remained of the Romulan fleet.

From Engineering, Trip sent up the B-Shift summary report. Everything in order down there. Status? Still holding at station-keeping, but Enterprise’s engines were primed up, Cap’n, and ready to go at a moment’s notice. 

One hundred hours.

Short snatches of conversation ebbed and flowed at irregular intervals. One at a time, people took brief breaks to stretch their legs or slip down to the Mess for quick, energy boosting late-night snacks, before hurrying back to resume their stations. Other than that, nothing changed except the numbers on the chronometer.

Two hundred hours. Three hundred… Three fifteen, thirty…

Jonathan’s head grew heavy. His eyes kept threatening to close. Probably he should send down for more coffee, or get up to take a break himself. Maybe go talk to Trip for a little while. Lots of coffee would be making the rounds down in engineering, too. They could share a cup. He could check on how the engines were holding up… 

Except he’d already been receiving Trip’s hourly updates, so there was really nothing that needed reviewing. Anything else hardly justified leaving the bridge. 

Maybe he would start planning his mission log, and then his next communication with Captain Hernandez. As commanders of the only two NX vessels yet in service, he and Erika often shared official reports with each other on their experiences and command decisions. And, whenever possible, completely unofficial long-range conversations about… About the more wondrous or frightening aspects of what they’d encountered and… and how they might spend their next shore-leave… That should be coming up, when? Fairly soon, right? Maybe he’d suggest another mountain climbing trip… Someplace that had a warm lake with a lot of stars up above it. Someplace where they could build a fire, fasten their sleep-rolls together, crawl inside. They could hold each other close, laugh and touch and talk and… 

He jerked awake as he realized his chin had been drifting, drifting on down toward his chest. And that no, he wasn’t with Erika, wasn’t hearing the soft rise and fall of her voice, but the nearby gentle lilt of Jhamel’s quiet words.

Wide awake now, Jonathan cast a sidelong glance in her direction.

“It’s nearly four hundred hours,” she was saying to Shran, her voice late-night quiet. “From your experience, how long to you believe the Romulans might hold out?” 

Shran took a slow, thoughtful sip from his drink cylinder. Even insulated, it must have gone stone cold by now. Its escaping scent reminded Jonathan of oranges gone flat, and of old, stale licorice. The Andorian made a face, but didn’t turn from the V-shaped brightness on the screen.

Jonathan followed his gaze. The Bird of Prey still hadn’t moved. He continued to stare at it, but couldn’t help listening for Shran’s response.

“I don’t know that there’s a pattern, except that they’re playing with us, hoping we’ll either panic at the sight of their presence, or try and revenge ourselves on them for the past. I know what we’re doing and why, but still, all this waiting, waiting, waiting goes against every military tactic I ever learned.”

Jhamel sighed. “For me, it is the defensive posturing that goes against everything my upbringing taught me.”

Shran shot her a glance. “So the Aenari refuse to even make a pretence of defending themselves against the implied threat of violence?”

“No, they don’t. “ Several seconds passed before she continued. “I never questioned the wisdom of that growing up. I always believed it was entirely natural, even that it should be easy to ignore the very idea of violence. But then, I had never encountered any form of it. None of the Aenar had, living in isolation the way that we… that they… do.”

Her sigh sounded wistful. How strange, and how disorienting, it must be for her. Yesterday morning she had still been a part of that community of “we” which she’d referred to, and now, here she sat only a few feet away, discussing all those she’d grown up with as “they”, a people completely set apart from her.

When she went on, the sadness in her tone was balanced with determination.

“It was so many generations since there had been any threat, violence became more an idea than a possible reality. After what the Romulans did to Gareb, I decided peace had to be more than a concept or a principal, but a minute by minute choice… It’s one I never realized would be so hard.”

“A choice that brought you here.” Shran’s tone was gentle. “I am sorry that choice cost you your home.”

“I have no- at least- not many regrets. But I believe it was bound to happen to me sooner or later. I can’t go back to thinking the way I once did. Or stop myself from asking questions. But I’m glad that I had friends around me when it did.”

“You have,” said Shran. “Many of us who care a great deal about you.”

It was impossible to resist casting a quick glance in their direction. And unsurprising for Jonathan to notice that, at some point, Shran had taken Jhamel’s hand in his own.

When she spoke again, there was the beginning of a smile in her tone. “After watching you, and Captain Archer, I’m beginning to believe there really is a path somewhere between preempting violence with violence and hoping that if we ignore it, it will in turn ignore us.”

“It sounds like you found that path!” That smile was in Shran’s tone as well. “You were the first to voice the idea of making the Romulans wait, in a very decisive tone I might add. And without even a command chair to sit in!”

“That was an impulse!” Was that a touch of embarrassment in Jhamel’s small laugh? “Despite my upbringing, I must admit that, at the moment, what I said had less to do with non-violence than it did with having a conscious resistance to giving the Romulans what they wanted. But even if I’m starting to understand this sort of passive resistance as a show of strength, I also find all of this waiting very… difficult.”

 

Shran gave a quick, quiet snort of laughter. “Difficult? Jhamel, you have a gift for understatement! I’ve had all this long, long night to think about being patient without it feeling like complete cowardice. Looking to find a bloodless solution when the ideas of pride, or of revenge as honor have always demanded to be treated as just as important as ending the conflict itself. And I’ve been battling with the notion that perhaps the risks those ideas create are… in the end, almost meaningless.”

That was, Jonathan knew, a great concession for his friend to make, one he might not speak in the less reflective hours of day, or in any other company.

But then, who knew for sure? Shran, and many of his attitudes had changed so much since they’d first met each other back on P’Jem. He’d gone from being a suspicious opponent, to a reluctant, even unpredictable ally, then a respected friend. 

Of course, they’d all changed, he and the fellow officers working around him on Enterprise’s bridge. 

His glance was drawn to T’Pol, who had turned from her position at the Science station, her eyebrows lifted as she considered the exchange between Shran and Jhamel. There would have been a time, early in Enterprise’s mission when she would have made a point of commenting that her home-world had long since reached the same conclusions, which was why they had resorted to the disciplines of logic. He couldn’t say just when it had happened- perhaps after discovering the fallibility of the High Command, or the writings of Surak, or maybe as her relationship with Trip had deepened- but sometime during their years together she had lost the tendency to reflect aloud on the superiority of all things Vulcan and come to truly embrace the philosophy of IDIC. She nodded in silent agreement with what Shran had said, but made no attempt to interrupt. 

Certainly, Jonathan knew, he had gone through his own share of changes, both bitter and sweet. Experience did that to a person. How much more would the years ahead change all of them? Especially with the Romulans, and all they represented, just waiting for them out there?

Fully awake now, he brought his gaze back to the view-screen. Well, that was one place where absolutely nothing had changed!

Four hundred hours. Five. Six. Six hundred thirty. Forty. Forty five…

He was going to need to confer with T’Pol soon about the rotation back to A-Shift at eight hundred. She might still look fresh and alert, but he could see how resisting the drag of long hours dealing with the adrenaline of maintaining battle readiness was creating a certain rigidity in the postures of his human crewmates. He could feel it himself in the aching tightness of his neck and shoulders. His chair provided no point of comfort at one moment, then, in the next, seemed to offer nothing but welcome, as it beckoned him to lean back, just a little… that’s all, just… a…little…! Just… a…! 

He made another circuit of the bridge. The motion seemed to help. Resuming his seat, he checked his own beverage cylinder. Cold, bitter dregs of last night’s coffee. How was it something that smelled so wonderful when hot, could be so completely disgusting after it cooled?

Seven hundred. Seven fifteen…

“Commander T’Pol,” he said, gesturing her over to his side, and hearing the graveled hoarseness thickening his voice. “We need to adjust the crew roster for-”

“One moment, Captain,” she straightened from her monitor. Her gaze met his, then darted to Travis. “Ensign…?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “I see it! Captain…”

He wouldn’t have needed to finish the sentence. “They’re moving away!” 

Jonathan could see it too!

The Romulan “v” had slipped from its place two squares out from the border. It was almost halfway into the third.

“Their aft shielding has engaged!” exclaimed Malcolm. “Without activation of any weapons system.”

“They are accelerating from sub-light to warp one,” T’Pol had turned back to her monitor. “One point two, now one point three.” 

“They’re transmitting to the rest of their fleet,” said Hoshi. “They intend to rejoin its formation. They didn’t bother to put it on scramble, Sir.”

“Any more than they’ve bothered to re-cloak,” said Malcolm. “Do you think they’re laying a trap, hoping that we’re going to follow?”

“If so,” said Shran, his tone decisive as he turned briefly to Jhamel, then exchanged looks with Jonathan. “They’ll be disappointed. We’re not going after them.”

For several seconds, nobody spoke. There was a quick, business-like exchange of nods and small smiles, and a slight relaxation of weary shoulders, but it was too soon to celebrate or to lower their guard too completely.

“Mister Reed, lower ships’ status from red to yellow alert. We’ll continue to maintain this position for the next several hours,” said Jonathan. “Just in case that vessel and its cloaked companions out there plan to come about and try to surprise us. It wouldn’t hold true to pattern, but… let’s just make sure. Hoshi, put me through to Captain Cor… no, not to Cor”thow. Let’s make sure and scramble this message for Captain Pree and notify him of our plans.”

That brought a round of bigger smiles and a ripple of tired laughter.

“In the meantime, T’Pol…” Jonathan turned to his Science officer. “I believe I was about to discuss the personnel assignments for A-Shift. The Romulans have caused a fair amount of disruption to our usual schedule.”

“Captain,” Rising, T’Pol strode across the bridge to stand beside the captain’s chair. “I shall compile the bridge roster from available B and C-Shift personnel. Now, I believe Doctor Phlox would advise you that, after twenty four waking hours, in a non-emergency situation, you should get a minimum of six hours sleep before resuming active duty. While you do so, I will, with your permission, assume command of Enterprise. As you know, we Vulcans can go for extended periods without sleep…” 

“Understood, Commander,” Jonathan rose, as did Shran and Jhamel, who didn’t need to wait for any appropriate personnel to come and replace them. He stepped away from the captain’s chair on weary legs that would have sworn the artificial gravity had been hiked up a notch. “You have the bridge.” 

He stood watching just long enough to see her slip into his vacated seat, her movements still easy and graceful as ever after the long night. By the look of her, she probably really could still carry on for several, how had she put it, periods without sleep? As he, Shran and Jhamel turned for the lift, he shot a fond grin in her direction. 

Had he really been thinking a little while ago about how she’d stopped describing the superior aspects of Vulcans?


	6. Chapter 6

11 June, 2155  
Enterprise NX-01  
Seven hundred hours, fifty minutes

 

E-Deck was calling his name.

Stepping into the lift, Jonathan set the command. Less than two minutes to his quarters. Good. But, no matter how much his aching body protested, there were a number of things that needed attending to before crawling into bed for a few hours of sleep. He stepped further into the lift as Shran and Jhamel, who couldn’t have been more than a stride or two behind him, crowded inside with him. Shran tapped in a request for B-Deck, where he and Jhamel each had their quarters. Except for a three-way collective sigh that acknowledged both the release of long-held tension and the awareness of fatigue, nobody spoke.

How long would it take to put together a summary of last night’s encounter with the Romulans? Jonathan would need to submit at least a basic recap for Starfleet, with copies for the governmental representatives of each Coalition member, and a quick note to Hoshi to leave them unscrambled. It wouldn’t hurt any eavesdropping Romulans to discover how many people were aware of their actions. He’d send out a longer, more detailed report later, after looking over the gathered notes from his fellow officers. There would be Porthos, waiting less than patiently for his breakfast, and incoming messages to review in case there were any demanding an urgent response. Or maybe there’d be a communication from Erika. That would be something welcome to wind down with. After that, he’d catch a nice, hot shower to clear away the strong sweat of adrenaline and anxiety. And then, at last…

The lift slowed, then stopped at B-Deck.

He roused himself as a soft hiss announced that the doors were beginning to open. Beside him, Shran’s usual fiercely erect command posture had loosened a bit, revealing the effects gravity had on tired muscles, and the Andorian’s eyelids looked every bit as heavy as his own had been feeling, especially over the last hour or so. Stifling a yawn, he was about to wish Shran and Jhamel a good night- or, more properly, a good morning- and tell them he’d speak with them again in a few hours, when Jhamel stopped him. 

“Captain,” There was a note of something in her tone that he couldn’t quite recognize. Though she had to be every bit as tired as he or Shran, there was no hint of slackness in her bearing. She made no move to step through the opening doorway, but squared her shoulders, then rested a restraining hand on his arm. Though it was small and fine-boned, the grip was firm and determined. This time her voice was stronger, surer. “Please, wait a moment.”

“All right.” He studied her in sudden concern. She had seemed more serene at the moment of her banishment, and under threat of a Romulan attack, than she did at this moment. “What is it?”

What could have changed since they’d entered the lift? There had been some degree of strain stretching through all those waiting hours, but it had contained a certain comradeship, the unspoken understanding everybody on the bridge was sharing a mutual experience. This was… different. 

He glanced a Shran on her far side, and saw the same confused concern in his friend’s tired features. 

The only thing he could think of was that it had to do with the Romulan encounter. Something she had perceived about the Bird of Prey’s sudden departure that nobody else had picked up on. But why wait? Wouldn’t it be more likely for her to have shared that information while they were on the bridge? Unless it had only just occurred to her… 

Somehow, that entire idea didn’t ring quite right. Of course, it could be, and probably was, completely unrelated. Something right there in front of him that he’d have been able to figure out if his brain wasn’t fogging over with a need for rest. God, he was tired!

The look on Shran’s face offered no clue. All he could see was how his own fatigue and confusion were mirrored there. 

“Jhamel,” Shran said, after a few seconds of expectant silence. “If this is something you would prefer to speak with Captain Archer about privately, I will bid you both a good rest.” One antenna twitched, as though being tugged between worry and perplexity as his gaze left Jonathan’s to rest on Jhamel. For an awkward moment, he stood in the doorway, plainly torn between his wish to honor whatever the need proved to be, and his own reluctance to leave her. Then, turning for the corridor, he added over his shoulder, his voice gravelly with fatigue. “Perhaps we could get together to share a meal later?”

“I wish you to remain as well, Shran.” Her level tone gave no hint as to her thinking. 

“All right…?” Shran’s confusion only deepened. The expression rested oddly on his resolute blue features. Frowning, he stepped back into the lift as its doors gave his shoulder one, two, three small nudges in their attempt to close. His tone was consciously gentle as he reached for Jhamel’s free hand. “What do you need to discuss with us?”

“I think,” she said. “That it’s later… now.” 

“All right, Jhamel,” Shran started to examine the controls. “If you’re hungry, we don’t have to wait until later. We can get that meal right away. I certainly wouldn’t mind a cup of hot Schlemmit before retiring, if this ship’s replicators are up to it that is. The Mess is on E-Deck, isn’t it? And, Pinkskin, you are certainly welcome to join us-”

“No. That’s not what I mean…” Jhamel paused. Her spine and antennae straightened as she lifted her chin and took a long, slow breath. Her tone was full of resolution, but… 

Could he be mistaken? Despite her serious expression, Jonathan could swear he heard a trace of something more than warmth- 

Was that mischief?

-creeping into her voice as she continued. “Shran, I mean, it’s… later!” 

Shran’s perplexed antenna twitched again.

Later! 

Jonathan had heard her use that word, with that same strong inflection before. It was… when? Sometime fairly recently. It was… Was…

God, was that only last night? No more than ten or eleven hours ago?

They’d been standing in the Captain’s mess and Jhamel had stepped close to Shran and she’d said… Said…? 

Jonathan was almost certain he knew where her words were leading.

Back then, Shran had also asked him to stay. He had pointedly said he wanted Jonathan to witness what he was about to do. There had been a similar tension almost vibrating through his muscles and antennae as now filled Jhamel’s. His tone had carried the same seriousness, but without that underlying hint of mischief lilting in its tone. He had stepped close to Jhamel and…

There was no time to finish the thought. 

“We spoke before,” said Jhamel. “About a marriage between us.”

“Yes,” said Shran. His eyes rounded, but he was careful, very careful, not to move, not to allow more to show in his face or sound in his voice than the thoughtfulness needed for an accurate recounting of the conversation. 

And he almost managed it. 

“I recall that you said we both needed time to heal before we considered a future together, and…”

Still, it was a struggle to force the start of a smile into utter surrender . “…that I should ask you again… Later.”

Still, hope and caution were doing battle in every taut, motionless muscle of his body as he waited for Jhamel to continue.

Jonathan realized he was standing every bit as still as Shran. And holding his breath. 

“Shran,” Jhamel said after several seconds, when Jonathan thought he could almost feel her searching out the words for all she wished to convey. “I’ve thought a lot about your proposal while we waited for the Romulans to make their move. I meant what I said last night about needing time for healing, but since then I’ve realized something.”

“And that is?” It wasn’t only fatigue that was lending hoarseness to Shran’s half whispered words.

“That I hadn’t recognized that the Romulans aren’t going away, any more than the Aenar recognize violence is more than an ancient concept, or pacifism more than a principle. We need to be ready to choose our actions, and understand why we make the choices we do. Otherwise we’re only reacting to somebody else’s choices.” 

Her hand twisted within Shran’s until now it was the one gripping his. “I realized that time has become a luxury. Tomorrow never tells what it might hold in store for any of us. Each day may become a gamble, just to survive.”

She stepped closer to him, lifting her face until it was close to his. “I think those days need to be more than a gamble, but a gift. One we can choose to give to each other. Shran, if that offer still holds, well, it’s… later.”” 

Shran’s eyes lit as he surrendered to the smile. He gave a quick, sharp bark of laughter and pulled her into his arms. “There’s only one problem!” he exclaimed. “It’s so much later that I think the question’s already been answered!”

Jhamel was laughing too. “I think you’re right!”

Jonathan didn’t know when it had come, but he realized his face had also split into a huge, delighted grin. Probably it happened about the same time all the fatigue departed on a temporary leave of absence. He smiled and smiled, not feeling a bit like a Spanish duenna, a Victorian chaperone or even a fifth wheel, as Jhamel’s arm came up to encircle Shran in return, then to draw him close. 

But he did find himself wondering how it was he always landed himself in the position furthest from the door. That was about the time he got the answer to a question that had occurred to him last night.

Yes, Andorians definitely did kiss!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

13 June, 2155, fourteen hundred hours  
Enterprise NX-01

Should he just call things square between them? Let it go at that? Or try to collect on the debt Shran could, quite arguably be owing him?

After all, he’d done what the Andorian had asked, accompanying Shran to Jhamel’s hearing, then supplying both of them with quarters aboard Enterprise after her banishment by the Aenar…

But then, he’d done those things as much for Jhamel’s sake as for Shran’s. Besides, after that, the Andorian had provided those positioning codes and pulled off that clever Cor’thow maneuver with Captain Pree. That probably put them right back to where they were when Shran showed up three days ago, striding onto the bridge, heralding his arrival with that all-too-familiar “You owe me one, Pinkskin!”. 

Jonathan stepped from his quarters, then paused long enough to adjust his collar. 

By whose decree had formal attire been designed to be so stiff anyway? After an entire afternoon spent strangling in this jacket, the metronome of debts should certainly swing back in Shran’s direction!

All right, maybe not. 

Wearing formal dress for a wedding was one way of paying respect to the marrying couple. Especially when, the night before last, over the dinner held to celebrate the announcement of Shran and Jhamel’s engagement, he’d been both surprised and moved by their request that he perform their wedding ceremony.

“It’s one of the customary privileges of being an Earth ship’s captain, isn’t it?” Shran had asked from the chair beside his, as he studied Jonathan through the steam swirling above a silver goblet of Andorian Summer brandy.

“Sure is.” From Shran’s other side, Trip had grinned over a brandy of his own. “Long as the ceremony’s performed on the ship he can!”

“By the custom of the Aenar,” From Jonathan’s other side, Jhamel had turned to T’Pol. “The bride is accompanied by female attendants, usually, members of her family or her community. Since I have neither but still wish to honor the tradition, will you attend me as I walk to meet my husband?”

“I would be honored,” said T’Pol.

Jhamel smiled. “I will ask Ensign Sato as well, when she comes off duty.”

“While I can’t speak for her,” said Jonathan. “I’ve known her long enough to imagine she would be delighted.” 

“I believe,” Shran reached for the brandy bottle, topped off his drink then turned to Trip. “On your world, the companion chosen to await the coming of the bride alongside the groom is called the ‘best man’. Isn’t that so?”

“Yeah,” Trip nodded. “That’s right.”

“Then, will you stand with me as the ‘best man”?”

Trip’s jaw dropped. “Me? I… Yeah, well, I’d be honored, but… you and the cap’n’ve been friends for years. Wouldn’t you want to find a way to…”

Shran shot a quick glance at Jonathan, his left antenna twitching with amusement he didn’t work hard to hide, then turned back to Trip. “He can hardly perform the ceremony and stand beside me at the same time, can he?” But after a moment, he sobered. “Mister Tucker, it was you who, when the former Vulcan High Command planned a surprise attack on Andoria, risked your ship, your life and an honorable career to warn our government of their intention. Then you used Enterprise as a buffer between our two sides. Your presence at our wedding is as significant as that of your captain and your Vulcan science officer, and you would honor us by your participation.”

Slowly, Trip nodded. After a moment, he picked up his glass and raised it in salute to Shran before turning and addressing his words to Jhamel. “Thank you, I’m honored to be apart of your wedding.”

At least, Jonathan decided now, as he stepped into the lift and signaled B-Deck, he wasn’t going to be the only one who’d be spending the next hours wearing the formal blue Starfleet uniform. 

He was still grinning as he pressed the door-chime to Trip’s quarters, where Shran was preparing for the ceremony with no risk of accidentally encountering his bride. Jhamel, he knew, was sequestered in her quarters along with Hoshi and T’Pol, who were assisting her with her bridal preparations.

“C’mon in, Cap’n!” came Trip’s voice almost before the chime had finished sounding. “You good at knots?”

Was that more than a hint of relief in his tone? Tending to an anxious groom couldn’t be easy, he decided as the door slid open. Maybe he himself had always been, as Erika put it in San Francisco last winter, only married to Starfleet, but he’d been to enough bachelor parties and groomsmen’s breakfasts to recognize how contagious the pre-nuptial jitters could get. He was hardly surprised by his first glimpse of Shran’s taut-muscled stance and tight-jawed expression. In some ways, he decided, the long night on the bridge, waiting out the Romulans had probably been far easier on the Andorian commander than preparing to face this ceremony. 

Though he had no current command, Shran’s rank in the Andorian Guard still permitted him the privilege of wearing full formal attire, plus the ceremonial sash, which Trip was endeavoring to fasten across his chest and over his shoulder. “I seem to have more fingers here than material.” There was a note of strain in his voice and when he looked up from his work, his blue eyes were troubled.

“Harder than warp science huh, Trip?” Moving in a slow circle, Jonathan kept his tone deliberately light as he studied the problem from several angles. “I’m no expert, but I think the sash was supposed to go on before the dagger-belt.” 

Shran glanced down, gave an abrupt nod of agreement. “I wasn’t paying attention,” he admitted, a harsh rasp of agitation in his tone.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t the tight, dry throat that came with nervousness he was hearing. The rigid set of his friend’s chin wasn’t from controlled apprehension or anticipation. Shran’s antennae weren’t giving of that tiny and unconscious twitch, twitch, twitch that Jonathan had come to know were signs of eagerness or impatience. They were too rigid for that, and the faint movement of the one on the right side was the small, slow quiver of a suppressed and slow-burning fury.

“Shran?” Jonathan allowed the single word to form whatever question his friend needed most to hear. Stepping back, he made space for Shran to pace, to rant, to give voice to whatever was running along the fuse on his hot Andorian temper. Catching his glance, Trip did likewise.

For two, three, four seconds, they waited. Nobody spoke. 

Except for that quivering antenna, everything in the room was still. 

Then Shran spun, striding toward a small desk-space built into the wall. Jonathan watched the Andorian’s restless hands, almost certain they were debating whichever items on it would make the most satisfying objects to hurl against the nearest wall, and hoped, whatever they turned out to be, that Trip wouldn’t mind it too much. Instead, the strong blue fingers clenched themselves into tight, tight fists, then unclenched and clenched again. With enormous restraint, Shran forced his hands back to his sides. “They could,” he growled after a moment. “Have at least shown her the respect of giving some sort of reply!”

“The Aenar, right?” said Trip. It was really a confirmation, not a question.

“Yes, the Aenar!” He turned back to them, eyes blazing. The explosion came at last in a shrapnel shower of furious words . “The night before last, after our engagement dinner “I thought it would be a courtesy to inform her people she was about to be married… in the event they’d had some time to hear the meaning of what she said in their so-called Hall of Justice. I believed them to be enlightened enough to give some reconsideration to the unfairness of their decision to banish her! Perhaps at least enough to grant her a few well-wishes!” His voice dropped, rasping with disgust. “Not one of those people who knew her all her life, who once called her their friend, or numbered her somewhere among their extended family, even so much as acknowledged the message.” 

Jonathan could almost see the pain behind the fury in Shran’s eyes. The Andorian had known the definition of the term “banishment”, had understood the concept of it, but in the waiting hours between this moment and the time he’d sent that message, he’d learned the true, bitter meaning of the word. 

It was Trip who found his voice first. “I know it’s not anywhere near the same thing,” he said, his words quiet and slow, their Southern cadence conveying the depth of his sincerity. “But she has all of us here on Enterprise to be her friends. Ya both do. And from today on, Shran, you’re the one who’s gonna be Jhamel’s family.”

Much of the angry tension seemed to flow out of Shran’s muscles. He drew a deep breath. His head lifted and Jonathan could see resolve writing itself across his features. After a moment, he even managed a smile. “Yes,” he said, nodding, as a note of warmth crept into his tone. “As she will be mine.” 

Stepping forward, he grasped Trip’s upper arm in a warrior’s salutation, circling the bicep with strong blue fingers and nodded his appreciation. After a moment, he gave Trip’s shoulder a brisk, resounding smack, then turned to Jonathan. “Jhamel doesn’t know that I sent the message. All things considered, I want it to stay that way.”

“She won’t hear about it from me,” said Jonathan as he saw Trip nod in agreement. 

“Then no more needs to be said,” Shran replied. “At least, not on that subject. Now, Pinkskin, can you help undo whatever tangle this engineer of yours has made of my sash and dagger belt so I will be presentable to go and meet my bride?”

“Let’s have a look,” said Jonathan, stepping forward.

Actually, he decided as he busied himself readjusting the belt and sash, Shran’s attire didn’t look any more comfortable than his or Trip’s. After a few minor tugs and pulls, he circled Shran for a final inspection, then nodded his approval.

“You look fine,” he reassured Shran, whose right antenna had shifted from its angry quivering to the more familiar twitch, twitch, twitch that could mean apprehension or excitement, and, at this moment, was probably signaling a combination of both. “Now, I’ll go tour the Mess to make sure everything there is just as ready. If there’s any hold-up, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, Trip, I’ll expect you to get yourself and the groom here down there in…” He checked the chronometer beside Trip’s door and considered. 

Until this moment, Jonathan had never imagined that Trip would actually have Shran ready a few minutes ahead of schedule. Still, with nothing more needed here, that gave him time for one more mental checklist. 

Last time he’d looked in, just after fourteen hundred hours, everything in the rearranged Mess was close to ready. The seating had been set up in rows, actually looking a little like movie night except for the full overhead lighting and the wide aisle set down the middle of them. The many small, square tables were repositioned end to end, forming three long banqueting tables just behind the podium where Jonathan would stand to conduct the ceremony. 

The replicators had been busy that morning, not only with the white cloths adorning the tables, but with the long central carpet leading from doorway to podium. Silvery blue, its color was a perfect match for the tall vases placed at intervals along each table. Deep inside and hidden from view, each vase held a tiny stasis-field device, placed to keep its careful arrangement of sparkling, jewel-like ice crystals from melting. Coordinating plates and goblets were already in place for the wedding feast, along with cut-glass decanters full of blue liquid in evidence, all ready for the customary toasts, while from the galley came warm and spicy aromas that suggested Chef was busy outdoing himself. 

He could go do a last-minute check on the table decorations, or the cutlery placement, but the steward would likely think he was more underfoot than anything else. But these extra few minutes would give him time to check in at Hoshi’s quarters to find out how Jhamel’s preparations were going. After that, he could get out his PADD and give the ceremony one more read through…

Trip was looking at him. 

“In exactly twenty minutes, Trip,” Jonathan confirmed. “You two wait here until sixteen hundred hours. Then, unless I signal otherwise, head on down to the Mess. Right on schedule.”

“But, Cap’n…” Obviously, the engineer hadn’t thought they’d be ready so early either and now, here he was with time to kill and nothing to do but fasten the collar on his own Starfleet blues and deal with the groom, whose anger had given way to the more expected case of nerves. Jonathan couldn’t say he envied him the responsibility. Shran tugged at his sash, an adjustment that set the ornamental dagger-belt askew, undoing all of Jonathan’s work. Trip’s dubious gaze focused on Shran’s twitching antenna, then followed the Andorian as he began to pace the confines of the small room. It said more plainly than words that time wasn’t always measured in minutes, and nervous ones could stretch especially long. Trip glanced from Jonathan to the chronometer. Raising his eyebrows, he cast a quick look toward a small stasis unit where Jonathan knew he kept a rarely opened bottle of his Aunt JoEllen’s very fine home-produced ginger-peach brandy.

Jonathan shrugged, then grinned. Trip hadn’t become Chief Engineer without learning how to handle command decisions, and this was one he didn’t mind handing off to him. 

Trip shot him a rather pained look.

Jonathan’s grin widened. What had he just been thinking a little while ago about how catchy the pre-nuptial jitters could get? It looked as if Trip had just been infected.

For a moment he wondered whether the engineer had also been nervous back on Vulcan before he and T’Pol had spoken whatever vows had cemented the bond between them, and, for that matter if he himself would develop a case of nerves like Shran’s in the event that someday he ever decided to…

His grin faded. Turning abruptly, he headed for the door. “Twenty minutes, Trip.” 

He could feel his old friend’s suddenly concerned gaze settle somewhere near his shoulder-blades for the moment before the door hissed open. “Aye, Cap’n.” he said.

Jonathan hurried toward the lift. But instead of his mental checklist, he kept finding he was thinking about those words Erika had spoken back on Earth last winter.

Married to Starfleet, she’d said. Married… to… Starfleet…

When, exactly, had that idea begun to bother him?

He wouldn’t, couldn’t go down that road right now. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Erika really saw him that way. Or herself. 

It was something of a relief to realize he’d reached the door to Hoshi’s quarters. Before heading to the Mess, he wanted to see how she, T’Pol and Jhamel were progressing. Not that “see” was an accurate term, since Hoshi would not allow the door of her quarters to slide open more than a few centimeters.

“Everything is going just fine here,,” said the Ensign. One dark eye gave him a thorough, up and down once-over through the narrow space.. Still, he didn’t need to look at her face to know she was all smiles. He could hear it in her tone as she continued. “Jhamel looks absolutely wonderful. And so do you! Except…” The door slid open a little further, just far enough and long enough for him to catch the motion as she gestured. “Your collar’s a little crooked, Sir!”

“I’ll take care of it. I’m looking forward to seeing all three of you,” he told her, returning the invisible smile, before giving another tug to his tight, stiff collar and turning and making his way to the lift. 

Malcolm and Travis, he knew, would be alternating between meeting boarding guests at the transporter or shuttle bay and accompanying them to the Mess. There, Phlox would then escort them to their seats. Exiting the lift, he found himself greeted by an intriguing array of smells coming from the galley. They seemed, if possible, to have grown even more enticing than they had been earlier. As he stepped into the Mess, he saw the stewards arranging Andorian ice-sculptures on each table amid the dishes, napery, silver and stemware. 

Jonathan was pleased to find that several of Shran’s closest friends from the Imperial Guard had already arrived. He was even more gratified to discover Phlox in animated conversation with Tallas’s parents, who had opened their home to Jhamel after the deaths of their daughter and of her brother just before the Coalition was formed. He was only disappointed to find one missing face among the expected guests.

“No sign yet of Captain Cor-thow, or maybe I should say Captain Pree?” he asked when Malcolm came through the door with two more Imperial Guardsmen. “I think Shran was looking forward to his being here.”

“He and his guests were just about to arrive as we left the transport area,” said Malcolm. “Ensign Mayweather will be escorting the three of them here in the next couple of minutes.”

Jonathan nodded. He was glad there were so many from the Imperial Guard coming to see Shran wed. The Andorian had been concerned that, since the loss of his ship, it would be a long time before he’d be offered another. But with so many of his fellows demonstrating their respect and support for him by their appearance here, Jonathan had reason to hope there would be another command in his friend’s near future. Especially with the Romulan threat still looming out there among the stars. 

“Captain,” came Travis’s voice from behind him. “”I’d like to introduce you to Captain Pree of the Andorian Imperial Guard, along with his guests…”

“Captain Pree,” said Jonathan, smiling as he turned. “It’s good to meet you and…”

His smile widened, even as his words trailed off.

Instead of the additional Imperial Guardsmen he’d been expecting, he found that Captain Pree’s companions were two young women in long gowns and shimmering, gossamer-thin veils, with the pale, almost luminous skin and the silvery hair of the Aenar.

“Captain Archer,” the taller of the two stepped forward. “I am Enase, and this is Tonrrah. We are here for Jhamel’s wedding.”

Jonathan took each of their hands in turn. “Enase, Tonrah, I am delighted that you’ve come. Jhamel didn’t believe any of her people would be here because-” 

“Not all of us,” Tonrah cut in. “Agreed that she be outcast. Even before we learned from Captain Pree here, that Jhamel suggested nobody fire on the Romulans, but try waiting them out. ”

“It was a courageous course of action, and,” said Pree with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “One quite unlikely to have come from an Andorian. We can be a hot-tempered people, but we’re not unwilling to learn. I believed her people should know of her actions and their effect.”

“It was a good thing it was your shift for monitoring incoming communications yesterday morning,” Tonrah said to Enase before turning back toward Jonathan. “There are those among the Elders who wouldn’t have passed the message along.”

Jonathan studied the two young women for a long moment. “Will this,” he asked. “Endanger your own standing within the Aenar community?”

Enase shrugged one dismissive shoulder. “Protests against her sentence are growing, though for now it still stands. But, while she would not be welcomed home…” 

Sudden mischief lit her delicate features. “We decided to check the record, and nowhere was it decreed that those who wanted to do so, couldn’t go to her. So, I asked Captain Pree if he could arrange transport for us and… here we are!”

She and Tonrah laughed, a sweet sound, like the light tinkling of bells

“We were concerned she wouldn’t have anyone to attend her as she celebrates her wedding,” added Tonrah.

“Not to mention the fact,” put in Enase. “That we were very interested to meet her husband to be.”

“Well, for all those reasons, I believe she’ll be very glad that you’ve come,” said Jonathan. He found himself smiling again. As much pleasure as their presence might bring to Jhamel, he wondered if Shran’s joy and relief would be even greater, because some of his beloved’s people cared for her enough to defy the shun. “I know that she has been very eager to follow the traditions she grew up with. She has asked two members of Enterprise’s crew to attend her, but if you’d like to come with me and greet her before the ceremony, she might wish to …”

“No,” said Tonrah. “Please, Captain, let us not disturb any arrangements she has already made. There will be time for the three of us to speak later. She has become part of a far larger community now, the first of us to venture out beyond our ice-caverns in… Oh, please forgive me, but history was never my best subject and so I don’t know how long it’s been. But if Jhamel has chosen people from among your crew as her attendants, then doing so honors that community.” 

“All right,” Jonathan nodded. “As you wish. Thank you, Travis, for accompanying them here. Is anyone else coming, do you know?”

“These are the last of the guests from off-ship, Sir. All of the crew that planned to come have already arrived..”

“Fine. If you will let Malcolm know the ushering duties are finished for the moment, Doctor Phlox here will escort our guests to their seats. I’m going to take one more quick look at the readings for the ceremony.”

Turning he proceeded them along the blue carpet toward the podium. As far as he knew, there had been no adjustments to the ship’s gravity settings in the last few minutes, still, he was aware that his heart seemed to ride lighter in his chest as he thought about the brief conversation with Pree, Enase and Tonrah. 

There had been times in the past few years, after the Xindi attack, the harsh and desperate months in the Expanse, the Temporal Cold War and the Romulan incursions, when he thought he’d lost track of the hopeful and idealistic captain he’d been when Enterprise first launched. Of that Jonathan Archer who had dreamed of seeking out the wonders of the stars and making friends with the civilizations living among them. Last winter, Erika had helped him begin to realize he might be older now, his idealism tempered by what he’d been through, but that the old, underlying dream was still worth striving for. The formation of the Coalition had strengthened the belief in its possibility, but today, he knew he’d also rediscovered the joy of it.

He was smiling as he reached the podium. The smile broadened when he saw one of the phrases shining up from the screen of the PADD resting atop it. “Among the happiest duties of a ship’s captain is that of joining two people in matrimony…”

Happy. Yes, he could speak the words, let his voice ring with the truth of them, almost without regret. The only thing that could possibly have made this day better was if Erika was here to enjoy it with him.

Well, tonight, he’d put the com-link on scramble and have a good long communication with Columbia… 

From out beyond the glowing PADD and the formal words written on it, came the rustling of fabric, the shifting of chairs. Jonathan glanced at the chronometer on the wall beside the door.

Sixteen hundred hours. The time had come to begin.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

13 June, 2055  
Enterprise NX-01  
The Mess Hall  
Sixteen hundred hours

The room grew silent.

For the time it took Jonathan to glance around the room and to draw a deep breath, all was stillness.

Then, as if on cue, from the side of the room, two of the ship’s best musicians, O’Neil who worked in Bio-science and Mac from Engineering, began to play. A slow, sweet melody on French Horn and keyboard. He didn’t recognize the tune, wondered briefly if it might be Aenari or Andorian, before the thought was interrupted by the sight of Trip and Shran entering through the doorway at the far end of the Mess.

They walked with slow and measured strides, keeping in perfect step with the music. Shran’s ceremonial sash, once again perfectly arranged, glinted in shades of metallic blue, the embroidered crests of his family glittering in threaded gold, black and turquoise. The hilt of his ceremonial dagger shone silver at his hip. Beside him, Trip was inspection-neat in his formal Starfleet blues. Halfway along the carpet, they paused, turning away from each other to give a bow to the people now seated in rows on either side of them. 

A moment later, they pivoted back to face each other again. Trip held out a hand, palm upward. With a flourish, Shran reached for his dagger belt. Something silvery bright glistened, spun upward in a shallow arc to land in Shran’s free hand. As he stepped forward to pass the object to Trip, Jonathan realized it was not the familiar, wicked knife he’d known the Andorian to carry from time to time, but a slender, transparent vial full of large, sparkling crystals.

Trip raised the vial high, turning in a slow circle to display it to guests on each side of the aisle. After a moment he lowered it, positioning it tall and upright in both hands, as he fell into step a couple of paces behind Shran the rest of the way up the aisle. On reaching thee podium, Shran took his place at Jonathan’s left side and turned to face the guests, with Trip standing just beyond him.

The song ended, to be replaced by another expectant silence. From the doorway, Malcolm gave a small nod the musicians. Two, three, four heartbeats later, they began to play again, a new song. People shifted in their seats, gazes traveling up the aisle to meet in the doorway, just as Hoshi stepped through.

Jonathan had somehow imagined she, as an officer of Starfleet, would also be appearing in her formal blues. Instead, she advanced toward him dressed in a traditional Japanese kimono. The silk of the skirt and sleeves was vivid with leafy greens, cherry blossom crimsons and the palest of sky blues, the obi at her waist stiff with gold brocade. She wore her hair swept up in and intricate braid, fastened with a butterfly shaped clasp in a matching shade of metallic gold. In both hands, she carried a large, clear, multi-faceted bowl. Jonathan couldn’t quite push aside the notion that it looked like one Chef had used for punch at several diplomatic functions. 

As she reached the halfway point, she paused as Shran and Trip had done, then lifted the bowl high for all to see. Lowering it, she gave a series of deep ceremonial bow, first to the group waiting at the podium, then to the people sitting on right and left, before making her way to the podium.

“You’ll need to move the PADD a little,” she whispered to Jonathan as she set the bowl before him. There was something small and metallic nestled in the bottom of it. Recognizing what it was, he gave her a single swift, small nod as she bowed once more then made her soft-slippered way to an empty chair in the first row.

As soon as Hoshi seated herself, T’Pol entered the room, sedate and elegant in her long, sweeping Vulcan robes of deepest rose. As Trip and Hoshi had done, she paused halfway down the aisle and stood, quiet and serene, looking back the way she had come as the music trailed away.

For a moment, there was only the faintest rustling of fabric, the soft scrape of a chair in one of the back rows, before Jhamel stepped through the doorway.

Jonathan had always thought her to be lovely, her beauty shining from the spirit within as well as from her delicate features. Today, she was a radiant vision. Her gown was long, the sheen of its smooth, satiny material such a pale shade that he was not altogether sure whether it was actually blue, silver or white. Jhamel had not acted in defiance of the ban by donning an Aenari veil, but walked down the blue carpet, her head bare, with her long, silvery hair cascading in ripples across her shoulders. In her hands she carried a large silver goblet.

T’Pol stepped into the aisle to meet her. For a moment, together, their fingers encircled the cup before Jhamel released it and T’Pol lifted it high. Again, Jonathan caught the quick sparkle of crystalline facets before T’Pol lowered the cup, and, bearing it before her in both hands, fell into step beside Jhamel as, with solemn dignity, they approached the podium. 

Jonathan cast a quick side-eyed glance at Shran. For the first time he had an inkling of what the old phrase meant about wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve. He’d never before seen such an expression of naked tenderness and delight on the Andorian’s usually stern blue features as he did right now while gazing at Jhamel. And he could have sworn that, from his far side, Trip was watching T’Pol with an almost identical look.

For an instant, he found himself thinking of Erika, seeing that intelligent face, that jaunty ponytail and especially those lively dark eyes, maybe, just maybe, looking in his direction with an expression like that… 

Something squeezed, quick and fierce at his heart. He busied himself by drawing the PADD closer to him on the podium as Jhamel and T’Pol took their places off to his right. Staring down at the words he would soon be speaking to Shran, Jhamel and their assembled guests, he took a deep, steadying breath and heard again those other words.

Married to Starfleet.

Married to Starfleet! 

He cleared his throat. Prepared to speak and found he needed to clear it one more time before he began.

“We’ve gathered here today, across star-systems and light-years, to celebrate the wedding of Shran and Jhamel as they pledge their hearts, their honor and their lives to each other and to witness the exchanging of the vows they themselves have written.”. 

Shran stepped forward. He faced the audience. Jonathan was gratified to realize he wasn’t the only one who’d had to clear his throat before speaking. 

“I, Shran, born and raised on Andoria, and now a member of its Imperial Guard, pledge before all of you to give my love and my loyalty, and to share my life with Jhamel, child of the Northern Ice. I pledge her the protection of my body, my sword, my home and my family. Knowing she comes of another tradition, I pledge to hear and weigh her counsel even when her views and mine differ. I promise to honor and respect her as much for the differences between us as for the things we have in common.”

Stepping forward, Trip passed the tall, slender vial into Shran’s hands, then slipped wordless, back to his place. As Trip had done earlier, Shran raised the vial.

“I show all of you gathered here, these ice crystals, collected from the region of my birth. They symbolize all that I have known and have been until this day.”

Turning, and, with a hand that shook ever so slightly, he poured the ice in a glittering cascade into the bowl. His sigh of relief at finishing the speech was just loud enough that Jonathan could hear it. Still, his muscles were so taut with excited anticipation that Jonathan had a moment’s concern he might inadvertently crush the vial between ardent fingers. It was with conscious effort that Shran forced his hands to loosen their grip, but his right antenna continued its eager twitch, twitch, twitching as Jhamel moved to stand beside him.

“I, Jhamel, born and raised in the Caverns of the Northern Ice, and within the traditions of the Aenar, pledge before all of you, to give my love and my loyalty to Shran, and to share my life with him. I pledge him any knowledge my studies and experiences have taught me, to offer every strength and comfort within me to give and to face any dangers at his side. Knowing that we come from different traditions, I will share my thoughts and ideas with him, but never impose them upon his choice of actions. I will honor and respect him as much for the differences between us as for the things we have in common.”

Moving to her side, T’Pol slipped the goblet into her waiting hands. Jhamel’s antennae shivered with nerves and excitement as she clutched the cup to her chest for a moment to steady it before raising it high aloft with one hand, while the other came to rest on the edge of the large, faceted bowl. Despite the faint tremors of nerves and excitement, when she spoke, her words rang, clear and steady. “These are ice crystals carved from cavern walls far to the North and near the place of my birth. They symbolize all that I have known and have been until this day.”

Her face was alight with smiles as she turned to pour her own stream of glistening crystals into the bowl. At some time during Jhamel’s speech, Jonathan realized, Shran’s strong, blue fingers had moved to touch the bowl’s opposite edge and now rested there, unmoving amid the silence of the room.

When, exactly, had all the music stopped? 

In the front row, Hoshi rose to her feet. Stepping forward, she made a deep, ceremonial bow, her palms resting lightly against her silk-clad knees. With slow and deliberate movements, she straightened, then lifted her hands to the butterfly clasp that secured her braid. “On behalf of all that have gathered here, I witness that you have spoken your intentions, each to the other and pledged your love and loyalty for all the days to come.” 

She turned the butterfly over in her hands and, as Jonathan nodded to her, she pressed a spot where its graceful metallic wings met its body. For the briefest instant, light poured from between Hoshi’s fingers as the butterfly glinted brighter than gold. Though the beam it sent out had been invisible, while the brightness was still fading and the butterfly once again became only Hoshi’s familiar hair-clasp, the brilliance of its glow was captured within the bottom of the bowl, shining up through its facets, as well as among those of the piled ice crystals. 

“We have been two,” said Jhamel and Shran in unison. “From two cultures, two histories, two ways of life. We have journeyed far to reach this day.” 

“Through grief and uncertainties,” said Shran.

“Loneliness and disillusion,” continued Jhamel.

“In the face of danger and at personal risk,” put in Shran. “And in the days ahead, we, and those we number among our friends, may face more of the same, because tomorrow never tells what it holds in store for any of us.”

“But those things,” Jhamel picked up the sentence. “Will be more than balanced by the joy of our union, by the strength, the courage and the delight we will draw from, and share with, each other.”

Together, they turned from their guests to face each other across the faceted bowl and, once again, spoke in unison. “All that we have been has joined together to become the future. Both and neither Aenar and Andorian, but something altogether new. Now, from that inseparable joining comes this symbol of our future.”

Jhamel lowered her goblet into the lighted bowl. The glow pouring from its depths had spread its warmth through the tumbled piles of ice crystals, melting them until the bowl was filled with clear liquid. She lifted the filled cup, then tipped it just enough for a small stream to pour over the rim and back into the basin with a light, prattling sound, then held it to Shran’s lips. He drank, a long, deep draft, then, in turn, dipped his vial, allowed some to cascade into the bowl and raised it for her to drink.

“We invite those who have witnessed our vows to share this symbol of our joining,” said Shran, in ringing, formal tones. “Captain Archer of Enterprise, representing Starfleet and the Coalition of Planets, T’Pol of the Planet Vulcan, Charles Tucker and Hoshi Sato representing the planet Earth, we salute you in gratitude for your service to us this day.”

They lifted their drinks in a toast as Hoshi, butterfly still clasped in the fingers of one hand, stepped toward the podium, the silk of her kimono rustling softly as Shran held the vial for her to sip, at the same time Jhamel raised the goblet for Jonathan. Over its rim, she beamed as he took a swallow. The water was subtly tangier than any water he’d ever tasted from Earth, though he couldn’t have named the trace element that caused the difference. Nor could he tell whether it was more reminiscent of water he’d tasted in Shran’s Andorian city, or during his time with the Aenar… which was, he decided, the precise point Shran and Jhamel had striven for. He was still savoring the flavor when Jhamel turned to offer the goblet to T’Pol. Off to his other side, Shran was holding the vial for a grinning Trip. 

Jonathan glanced at his PADD as the drinking vessels were laid down on either side of it. He read the words slowly and gravely, pronouncing each clear and loud enough to fill the room. “By the authority vested in me as captain of this vessel, Enterprise, under the maritime traditions of Earth, by that of Starfleet and under the auspices of our Coalition of Planets, and in the presence of this company, I pronounce you wed. Shran,” he looked up and found himself grinning. “You may kiss the bride.”

Stepping in front of the podium, Shran and Jhamel stood facing each other. They leaned forward, nearer, nearer, their eager antennae questing, slow and gentle. Finding, touching, tip to tip, holding motionless for several long, almost tentative seconds, before the couple stepped closer still, tilting their faces until their cheeks brushed, their lips met and their arms lifted to gather each other into an embrace.

It was, Jonathan believed, Trip who, several seconds later, began the applause.

As the sound grew and swelled throughout the Mess, Shran and Jhamel broke apart to bow and smile in acknowledgement of their guests support and approval. 

“All who wish to,” invited Shran as soon as the din began to subside, the formality of his ringing tone overlaid with his obvious pleasure. “May come and sample the symbol of our union!”

“I’ll drink to that!” roared a deep and resounding voice. “Even if it’s not Andorian brandy! In honor of your lady!”

“Pree, you old pirate!” Shran led the laughter that filled the Mess as his fellow commander rose from his seat and strode up the aisle to clasp Jhamel’s small hands between his large ones, then receive a swallow from the vial of water, followed almost immediately by a hearty slap on the back from the grinning Shran.

“And so will we, even if it isn’t Aenari nectar!”

Jhamel gasped. “Enase!”

“Yes, and Tonrah!” Laughing with delight, the two young Aenari women who’d come forward, fast on Pree’s heels, pulled her in for a huge, three sided hug.

At the sight of Jhamel reunited with two of her friends, Jonathan could have sworn Shran’s already huge grin grew even wider.

Enterprise crewmembers, Tallas’s parents and a large contingent of Andorian Guardsmen converged on the group gathered around the podium to shower Shran and Jhamel with congratulations and well-wishes. 

“What a wonderful ceremony!”

“Here’s to the two of you and your bright, bright future!”

“A happiness for every star in the galaxy!”

“All the best!”

“Did I hear somebody say Andorian ale?”

Jonathan smiled as a beaming Shran took Enase and Tonrah’s hands in turn, while  
Tallas’s mother stepped forward to circle Jhamel in her embrace. Hoshi used the butterfly clasp to refasten her braid as Trip unfastened the tight collar of his dress blues. Then, amid more talk and laughter, Jhamel turned to pass her wedding goblet to Enase and Tonrah for sampling, while Pree reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial, which he shared with Phlox and which Jonathan was more than reasonably certain contained something far stronger than water. 

Soon enough, he knew, he would have to step into the throng, to circulate and play the host as he welcomed everyone to stay for the meal whose aroma was growing more tempting by the moment. For now, he was content to let the noise and laughter ebb and flow around him as the guests spread out to fill the Mess with ever-changing currents of conversation. He watched the way Shran and Jhamel kept finding ways to reconnect, moments to spend touching each other’s shoulder or arm as they talked with old friends and new. He noted how Tonrah and a young Andorian Guardsman had lost themselves in one deep and animated discussion, while Travis, Malcolm and Enase conducted another. And he watched as Trip maneuvered his way through the crowd to stand close beside T’Pol, and how their hands kept discretely brushing against each other’s.

Tomorrow, he decided, might not tell what it held in store for any of them. Out beyond the fragile skin of this ship, somewhere among the darkness between the stars, the Romulans were almost certainly plotting the downfall of the Coalition. But here, today, within this room, the future whispered only of joy and hope.

And tonight, he would contact Erika and tell her all about it.

Maybe even speculate with her a little about looking for a future of their own.

“I think, on your world, they call this a toast.” Shran was making his way toward the podium, weaving in and out between knots of people. He grinned across the glowing bowl and held up Pree’s small, silver vial for him to see, then raised it in salute. “You’ve done Jhamel and me a great service today, and don’t think for one minute that we don’t appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure, Shran.” 

“There’s just one more thing I want from you.” Shran’s tone tried to be stern, but if his grin got any wider, Jonathan thought its edges would reach around and meet at the back of his head.

“And that is?”

“When I get a ship of my own again, I hope you’ll allow me to perform the same one for you.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Maybe it wasn’t only the Aenar or the Vulcans who could read minds. Otherwise, how could Shran have guessed he’d just been thinking about Erika. “I didn’t know,” he said, as the idea and all its bright possibilities caught hold. “That performing weddings was a captain’s prerogative on Andorian vessels.”

“As far as I know, it isn’t,” said Shran. “Not yet. But it should be. And I’m going to see that the necessary regulations are written that will make it so. After all-” With a flourish, he lifted the vial in a higher, more sweeping salute, then took a drink before extending it toward Jonathan. “-I owe you one, Pinkskin!”


End file.
